


One for the team

by crispierchip



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Rimming, Spanking, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 03:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispierchip/pseuds/crispierchip
Summary: Sid draws the short straw after the loss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](http://thesinbin.dreamwidth.org/3790.html?thread=4793038) prompt at the sinbin
> 
> basically the philadelphia flyers have their way with sidney crosby ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sid draws the short straw after the loss. It’s not a literal straw - Geno just grabs his name out of a bucket. Both Shearsy and Dumo offer to go in his stead, but that’s not really how it works: your name gets drawn, you take one for the team.

Sid has only had the Flyers once before, and it was in the playoffs. He’s not sure what to expect, now; the playoffs are more high-strung, everybody is on edge and no one really cares about who’s getting fucked. Now, though, it’s the regular season, and the Flyers aren’t even in the playoffs. Still, they managed to beat Sid’s team.

Geno comes over and apologizes before Sid leaves the locker room, as if it’s his fault that he drew a particular piece of paper out of the bucket. Geno’s never had the Flyers, but he’s gone to Caps four times. He said they were good with him.

“It’s no problem, G,” Sid tells him, because Geno’s still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“I’m walk you there?” Geno asks, hopeful, but this is going to be humiliating enough without Geno walking him to the Flyers’ dressing room, so Sid shakes his head.

“It’s all good,” he says, and leaves, because he can feel the entire team’s eyes on him.

The walk over from the visitors’ dressing room is shorter than Sid would have liked, but it always is. It’s Giroux who opens the door, a towel wrapped around his waist and a beer can in his hand. He sees Sid and his eyes grow wide, his lips parting, just a bit. It’s only for a second, though, and then his face is set again, and he’s looking right at Sid, from his eyes right down to his toes and back up again. He might as well be undressing Sid with just his eyes, and Sid squirms under it, fights the urge to turn around and leave.

“Crosby,” Giroux says finally, after what feels like entire minutes. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

Sid straightens up and meets Giroux's eyes. “Well,” he says, even, because it’s Sid who they’re going to get.

Giroux raises his hands. “Okay,” he says. “Come in.”

There’s more stares, once Sid gets through the door, but he ignores them, keeps his eyes resolutely on the floor. “Whoa,” he hears a couple of guys mumble. By now, everyone who doesn’t want to participate in this has cleared out, and there’s only maybe a dozen players left. Sid doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that way.

Giroux goes first, because he’s the captain, Sid remembers that much. He has Sid kneel down on the floor and steps in front of him, lets his towel drop around his feet.

“Show us what you got, Croz,” he says, grinning, and takes a sip of his beer.

Sid wants to roll his eyes, except his heart is pounding in his chest, his stomach rolling. He’s acutely aware of everyone watching him, their eyes on him, on his mouth and his ass, probably, and how he’s on his knees for Claude Giroux.

Sid reaches up to take Giroux's dick in his hand, start jerking him off, but Giroux catches his wrist before he has a chance to. “Just your mouth, no cheating,” he says, looking down at Sid with the same smirk as before, and Sid feels his face grow warm; he thinks he’s blushing, thinks Giroux can tell.

Sid leans forward and wraps his lips around Giroux’s soft dick, sucks it into his mouth. Giroux lets out a sharp breath above him, and Sid blushes harder, but he likes it, likes it more than he should. He keeps sucking Giroux off, moving his lips up and down his dick until he’s hard, and then he pulls back, sucking on head.

“Have you gotten some practice in since last time?” Giroux asks, at some point. It comes out breathy, and unsteady, but it still makes Sid flush, makes him go down until he can feel Giroux’s dick in the back of his throat.

“Fuck, sure feels like it,” Giroux goes on, slurred, and at least Sid can take pleasure in that, that his mouth is making Giroux all fucked-out. He feels his dick stir at the thought and prays Giroux can’t tell because it’s one thing to suck Giroux’s dick into his throat but another to get off on it.

Giroux puts the beer down at some point, or he hands it someone else, because the next thing Sid knows Giroux’s hands are on him, stroking through his hair. Sid shivers and tries, desperately, not to push into it, probably fails judging by Giroux’s chuckle above him.

“Some things haven’t changed, I guess,” he mumbles, which, Sid doesn’t know what that's about, doesn’t spend too long thinking about it either.

Sid can’t really go very deep, because has gotten some practice in but not enough, but Giroux doesn’t seem to mind. He stands in front of Sid, his fingers in Sid’s hair, moving along with his head, and taunts him, every few minutes, which only makes Sid work harder.

“Stop,” Giroux says, a few moments later, and Sid freezes, embarrassingly quick. Giroux moves back, then, starts jerking himself off right in Sid’s face. “Close your eyes,” he says, and Sid does, but lets his mouth fall open, his tongue darting out.

Sid’s expecting it, but he still flinches when he feels the first drops of Giroux’s come land on his face. He manages to stay still after that, though, and feels some of Giroux’s come on his lips, licks it up with his tongue.

“Jesus, Croz,” Giroux lets out, and then next thing Sid feels is Giroux’s lips on his. He tries to pull back, at first, doesn’t really know why, but then Giroux’s kissing him, slow and firm, just with his lips, and Sid never even stood a chance here. When Giroux pulls back, Sid’s eyes are still shut, his lips parted.

“Come on, now,” Giroux’s says. “It’s Wayne’s turn,” he goes on, and Sid is vividly reminded of where he is, of how there’s come on his face and a dozen Flyers around him to watch it. Sid tenses, and maybe Giroux can feel it, because he runs a hand through his hair, and it’s - it’s comforting, is the only word Sid can come up with.

“Okay,” he says. He stands up, knees cracking, and then Simmonds is in front of him. He’s smiling, not a smirk like Giroux’s but not far from it either. He had a goal tonight, and, looking at him, that's the only thing Sid can think about, how his tem lost 4-0 to the Flyers, who are not even in the playoffs.

Simmonds undresses him, and Sid wants this to be over as quick as possible, or maybe not, so he helps him, shrugging off his suit jacket and stepping out of his shoes and pants. Sid’s hard, his cock jerking up once he’s naked, and he doesn't want them to see that, has to fight the urge to cover himself up. No one says anything, thankfully, but Sid looks at Simmonds and finds him smiling.

“How do you want me?” Sid asks, just so he has a reason to turn away.

“Hand and knees,” Simmonds tells him, so Sid gets down on all fours, feels Simmonds come to kneel between his legs. Sid thinks about what he must look like, to Simmonds and to everybody else who’s there and clenches up tight, tries to bring his legs together but can’t, with Simmonds between them.

“Relax,” Simmonds tells him, soft. He spreads Sid’s cheeks, and Sid shivers, at the feel of cold air brushing against his hole. He wants to move away, kind of, but also kind of not, so he gets on his elbows instead, arches his back and closes his eyes when someone behind them whistles.

“Jesus, Crosby how do you _get_ that ass?” someone else asks, maybe Schenn, and Sid’s entire face burns with embarrassment.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, and gets a slap on his ass for it. Sid doesn’t lean into it, but it’s difficult, with his whole body screaming at him.

“Be nice,” Simmonds says, and Sid has basically already forgotten what Simmonds is referring to. He nods anyway, and then Simmonds is spreading his ass open again, and - fuck, that’s his tongue, which, Sid didn’t think - jesus.

“Oh my god,” he says out loud, and _feels_ Simmonds chuckle against his ass, hears the others laugh around them, and can’t even bring himself to care.

He arches his back, pushing his ass back into Simmonds’ face. He feels Simmonds’ tongue on his hole and lets out a long breath, tries to breathe through Simmonds coaxing him open. Sid’s only ever done this once before, and it wasn't in this setting, and the guy doing it to him wasn't nearly as passionate. So, he doesn’t have a lot to go of, but he thinks Simmonds is pretty good at this.

Simmonds works him open like that, until Sid is a shivering mess on the floor of the Flyers’ locker room. At some point, Sid feels something cold and slick press against his hole, and relaxes, somewhat. He thinks, with how long Simmonds has spent eating him out, he could take him, probably, but this is supposed to be - it’s supposed to be a gangbang, and Sid has to be able to skate tomorrow at practice.

Simmonds spends a few minutes fingering him open, starting with two and working himself up to three fingers, and then he’s pulling out, slapping Sid’s ass again. It stings, harder than the first one, and Sid lets out a breath. He spreads his knees as far as they’ll go and bends his back, his chest almost touching the filthy locker room carpet.

“Shit, Simmer, he wants it bad,” someone says, and this time Sid has no clue it is. He thinks it’s better that way.

“Yeah, he does,” Simonds says from behind him, and then he’s pushing in, pressing and pressing, and Sid can’t even breathe. He panics, for a moment, and then he feels Simmonds’ hips come to rest against his ass, and finally takes in a breath, gasping.

“Shh,” Simmonds says from behind him. “You got it.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the back of Sid’s neck, and Sid shivers, his body shaking with it.

Simmonds waits for him to adjust for a few seconds, and then he starts fucking in and out of him, quick and sharp motions that drive his dick straight into Sid’s prostate, leave him with dots behind his eyes. Sid honestly doesn’t know if Simmonds is doing it on purpose or what, but he presses into it, spreading his legs further, until his groin burns.

Simmonds keeps fucking him like that, unrelenting, and he never touches Sid’s dick. Sid goes to reach for his himself, only he’s not sure if he’s - allowed to. He thinks - he wants to be good for this, as messed up as that sounds, so he looks to Giroux where he’s sitting in one of the stalls, Sid’s clothes in a bundle beside him. Giroux shakes his head, though, and Sid wants to scream, it feels so good, so not enough at the same time.

“You’ll get your turn,” Simmonds tells him, driving his dick inside Sid.

Sid whines, can’t help it, and clenches his fists around the carpet so he doesn’t try to touch himself.

Simmonds thrusts a few more times and then he’s coming, Sid can feel it, feel _him_ , pulsing inside of him, so he tightens around him, and Simmonds gasps. “Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and Sid kind of wants to smile.

It’s Voracek’s after that, moving to stand in front of Sid. He’s already hard, and Sid blushes knowing that it’s from watching, and he holds his dick out for Sid to take into his mouth. He’s not bigger than Giroux, and Sid takes him in easily, going down as far as he can and then pulling up again. Voracek seems to like it; he starts thrusting into Sid’s mouth after a while, shallow, and his breath grows deeper.

Sid’s just settling into a rhythm when he feels someone come to kneel behind him, feels a hand on his ass, fingers brushing over his hole. He jerks away, at first, but then remembers where he is and why and stands still.

“Good boy,” whoever is behind him says, an accented voice that Sid can’t quite place. It should freak him out, he thinks idly, that he's getting fucked by someone who he can’t even recognize, but his dick is hard and his back arched, and he can’t even bring himself to care, not with words like that ringing in his ears.

Whoever is behind him starts fucking him with two fingers, and Sid thinks about Simmonds’ come, still inside him, thinks about how whoever’s fingering him is probably feeling it, too. His face warms at the thought, and he chokes on Voracek’s dick.

“Need a break?” Giroux asks, from his spot at the stall. The guy behind Sid slows, makes to pull out, and Sid squeezes down hard around his fingers, trying to articulate everything he can’t bring himself to say. He shakes his head, too, when Giroux just keeps looking at him, and then Voracek’s pushing in again. His dick pulses on Sid’ tongue and it’s only a few short thrusts before he’s coming. Sid swallows it and tries not to think about how slutty it probably looks, on the outside.

Voracek walks away after he comes, and Sid locks eyes with Mason, who’s sitting in a stall close to Giroux's, watching them. Mason, who shut out Sid’s team, who’s basically the reason Sid is where he is, right now. Sid looks away after maybe two seconds, moves onto his elbows so he can bury his head in his arms.

“Hey, don’t do that,” the guy behind him says, Raffl, Sid realizes. He slaps Sid’s ass once, hard, and Sid pushes into the burn, can’t even stop himself. “Oh,” Raffl says, and, shit, he lands another hard slap on Sid’s ass. Sid whines, can’t help it, feels tears build up behind his eyes and has to fight them down.

“Come on, Crosby, sit up for me,” Raffl murmurs, and it sounds - fuck, it sounds so soft, a sharp counterpoint to the sting of Raffl’s palm. Raffl brings his hand down again, and Sid braces himself for another hit, but Raffl just rubs his ass, which is even worse, Sid thinks.

“Sit up and let us hear you,” Raffl goes on, and Sid sucks in a sharp breath. He feels something wet on his cheek and realizes he’s crying, and he can’t - he can’t let them see him like this, not Raffl and not Giroux and not Mason either. He stubbornly stays still, even when Raffl lands another two slap on his ass, each harder than the first two.

Sid thinks he can make out some shuffling, and then there’s someone kneeling down next to him, Sid can see as much from the corner of his eye. Giroux, he thinks, and looks up to meet his eyes. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but Giroux just looks fond, and isn't that a thought.

Giroux moves then, tilting Sid’s face up so he can kiss him, gentle like before, and Sid can’t even breathe through it, it’s so good. He thinks it shouldn't be, simply because it’s freaking Claude Giroux with his tongue in Sid’s mouth, but Sid can’t even focus on that part right now. He lets Giroux kiss him, and lets out a long breath when Raffl pushes into him, his dick long and curved and hitting Sid just right.

Raffl starts moving right away, and Sid takes it, his dick hanging hot and heavy between his legs, slapping against his stomach with each one of Raffl’s thrusts. Giroux keeps kissing him, though, at this point, it’s basically just Sid breathing into his mouth, but Giroux doesn’t pull back.

“Tell us what you want, Croz,” Giroux murmurs. He drags his thumbs over Sid’s cheeks, where the skin is still wet. “You want Raff to spank you?” he asks, and Sid can’t even - he looks away at the word, can’t ever listen to it without flushing a deep shade of red. “Kind of slutty, Sid, wouldn't have pegged you for it,” he goes on, voice even and steady and he might as well be talking about the weather.

“Please,” Sid just says, the best that he can manage, and it comes out wet, rough; fucked-out, already. “Please.”

Raffl gets it, though. He brings his hand down on Sid’s ass, right onto the meatiest part of it, and Sid whimpers, hips thrusting into nothing. Raffl does it again, this time at the same time as he pushes into Sid’s prostate, and Sid lets out a noise, can’t help it, high and whiny and embarrassing, so goddamn embarrassing.

Sid expects to hear laughing, but there’s dead silence instead, just the sound of Raffl fucking into Sid and their breaths filling up the room. Sid looks at Mason and sees him fisting his dick, wonders how many of the guys behind them are doing the same thing.

“Please,” he says, “More.”

“Jesus, Crosby,” Raffl says, from behind him, but he slaps Sid’s ass again, harder than last time, hard enough that there are fresh tears welling up in Sid’s eyes and precome dripping from hs dick onto the floor. He does it again, a handful of times, until Sid is crying near constantly, his dick a drooling mess. Raffl stops then, rubs gentle circles over the throbbing skin of Sid’s ass, and even the feel of his palm against the sensitive skin makes Sid want to cry.

“You want to get off?” he asks Sid, which -

“Please.”

Raffl wraps his hand around Sid’s dick, and it feels so hot on Sid’s skin, almost burning. He starts jerking Sid off, fast and rough, and Sid looks to Claude, still standing too close to him, and Claude nods. Sid whimpers, almost, and finally leans into Raffl’s hand. It takes him maybe a dozen strokes until he’s coming, all over the floor and Raffl’s dick.

“You good to keep going?” Raffl asks from behind him, and Sid’s ass throbs from Raffl’s hand, there’s dried come and tears on his face and they’ve barely gotten through four guys. He nods, and tries to stay loose as Raffl pushes back inside, fucks into Sid quick and deep until he’s coming, his dick throbbing in Sid’s ass.

After Raffl, it’s Konecny, shyly making his way over to Sid, and, god, Sid had forgotten about this part, where he gets fucked by rookies, too, as if the whole thing wasn’t humiliating enough already. Now that he’s come, Sid is fully aware of that, and he can’t help curling into himself, a little bit.

Konecny is hesitant, pushing into Sid, and Sid can’t blame him, with how tightly he’s holding himself. “Okay?” he asks Sid, once he’s fully seated, and Sid nods.

“Go for it,” he says, the most coherent he’s managed yet. Maybe Giroux picks up on it, because he beckons Gostisbehere over, has him kneel in front of Sid. Sid doesn’t know if he should thank him or what, so he just takes Gostisbehere into his mouth.

Konecny and Gostisbehere find a good rhythm between them, so by the time Konecny’s coming, Sid’s feeling a little lightheaded, his dick filling out between his legs. Gostisbehere comes soon after, aiming for Sid’s face and throat, and Sid gasps, when the first drops hit his skin.

It’s Mason after that, asking Sid to “Please come over here,” and Sid’s not about to crawl over to him so he sits up, shoulders and elbows aching with it, and knee-walks his way to Mason.

“Is it okay if I fuck your mouth?” Mason asks him, and Sid feels a sharp thrill go through him, at the thought of Mason holding him down and forcing him to take it.

He nods, half-stupid with it already, and settles back on his haunches. Mason threads his hand through Sid’s hair and pulls his face forward, onto his dick. He puts his other hand on the back of Sid’s neck, slowly pushing him forward, and waits for Sid take his dick into his mouth.

Mason starts out shallow, no deeper than Giroux had gone, but he’s relentless about it, settling into a rhythm and sticking to it. He gradually goes deeper, until his dick hits the back of Sid’s throat, and then deeper still, until Sid’s fighting the urge to gag, to pull away.

Sid lets him, both because he can’t not and because he kind of wants this, wants Mason to hold him down until he’s gasping for it, his heart beating in his throat.

“Again?” Mason asks, after Sid’s caught his breath.

Sid nods, eyes slipping shut, and lets Mason in again, until he can feel Mason in his throat. He swallows around him, and Mason’s hips jolt, pushing his dick farther than Sid can take it.

Sid jerks away, coughing. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes and he has to wipe them off.

“Fuck, sorry,” Mason’s saying, his fingers still in Sid’s hair.

“‘S okay,” Sid says, voice rough, and he doesn’t even want to think about how he’ll sound tomorrow, when he’ll have to talk to his teammates.

Mason strokes Sid’s hair, traces the shell of his ear. “Once more time, okay?” he says, and Sid nods.

Mason doesn’t go as deep this time, but Sid tears up anyway. He thinks about how his face must look, sticky with come and wet with tears and his dick stirs in his lap. His hand itches to take hold of it, but he thinks Giroux is running the show for him, and, anyway, he’s hardly gotten through half the guys in the room.

“You ready for it?” Mason asks him, moving his hand to the base of his dick.

Sid nods, as best as he can, but it still surprises him, the feeling of come coating his throat. He has to fight not to choke on it, and he manages, but just barely.

There’s a long pause after Mason’s done with him, no one stepping up, and Sid just stands there, sweaty and covered in come and tears. He worries, for a moment, that they're done with him and goes to wrap his arms around his middle, cover himself up, but then Schenn’s coming forward. He moves to sit on the carpet next to Sid and gestures to his lap.

“Schenner is kind of lazy,” Giroux explains, to which Schenn rolls his eyes.

“I just want to see all that lower body strength put to work,” he argues, and Sid flushes.

He lifts himself up on aching knees and straddles Schenn’s hips. He feels come start to drip out of him and has to clench down, as much as he can after being fucked. Schenn is big, and it’s work, fitting him inside.

“Jesus, Sid, you’re so wet inside,” Schenn mumbles, once he’s fully seated. “It’s better than a fucking pussy,” he goes on, and Sid can’t take that, he starts crying again, big fat tears making their way down his cheeks, has to lean down and bury his face in Schenn’s neck, muffle himself.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Schenn murmurs then. He’s still moving inside Sid, relentless, pushing his dick into Sid’s prostate. “You’re good, you’re so good,” he says, and Sid’s stomach curls into itself, his dick leaking precome all over Schenn’s stomach.

“Yeah, there you go,” Schenn goes on. “You got it, you’re so good for us.”He drives his dick into Sid’s prostate, and Sid whimpers, knees spreading as wide as they’ll go so he can rub himself off on Schenn's stomach.

“Best lay this team’s ever had,” Schenn says. His voice is deep, and breathy, followed by a chorus of ascent, and Sid cries harder, making a mess of Schenn’s shoulder, though Schenn doesn’t seem to mind.

Sid jumps when he feels a hand settle on his ass, spreading him open for the rest of the team to see.

“Shh, it’s just Coots,” Schenn tells him, and Sid doesn’t know why that makes him relax, because it’s not as if he knows Couturier all that well, but it does.

“He’s gonna open you up a little bit, okay?” Schenn says, and Sid gets it then, gets what’s going to happen. At first he panics, tensing all over, drawing a groan from Schenn. He doesn’t know if he - doesn’t know if he can _take_ that, take that much without falling apart.

There are rules, though, and rules say that Sid has to do whatever they want of him.

“Okay,” he says, mostly to himself. “Okay.”

“You’re gonna be good for us and take it?” Schenn - he taunts Sid, really, and Sid wants to be here, he wants to be anywhere but here, wants to be good and make his team proud.

“Yeah,” he breathes, willing himself to relax again. It works, slowly, with Couturier rubbing his thumb over Sid’s rim, coaxing him open. Couturier pushes a fingers in once Sid is relaxed enough for it, and Sid chokes on his breath. It feels like the stretch is the only thing he can focus on, and, for a moment, he has trouble breathing, it’s so intense.

“There you go,” Schenn’s saying then, rubbing circles onto Sid’s waist. “You got it.” he presses a kiss to Sid’s cheek, and that fucks Sid up more than anything. He makes a noise deep in his throat and feel more tears leak out of his eyes, rubs his dick harder onto Schenn's stomach.

After a while, Couturier moves up to two fingers, and that's even worse, such a tight fit, has Sid digging his nails into Schenn's shoulders. It works, though, and after a few thrusts, Couturier is pushing in with a third one, squeezing them tight to fit them in with Schenn's dick.

Couturier pulls out, just as Sid’s grown adjusted to his fingers. For a long moment, there’s nothing, and then Sid can feel the blunt pressure of Couturier’s dick on his hole, right next to Schenn’s. He tenses, inadvertently, and curses himself for it.

“Schenner,” Giroux says, before Sid can beat himself up for it. “Kiss him.”

And Schenn does. He coaxes Sid’s face out from under his chin and looks at him. Sid’s lashes are clumped together, and his face is sticky. He feels disgusting, wants to turn away. Schenn just wipes at the tears and come, though, from under Sid’s eyes, and leans in to kiss him, slow and gentle, his tongue darting out to wet Sid’s lips.

Sid gets so lost on it that he almost forgets about Couturier, and by the time Couturier’s pushing into him, he’s too exhausted to fight it. It feel inexorable, stretching and stretching and stretching, until Sid feels like he's going to break apart. He feels Couturier’s hips come to rest again his ass, then, and lets out a long breath, more tears making their way down his face,

“Okay?” Couturier asks him, running a hand down his side and back up again.

Sid nods, even though he feels so full.

Schenn and Couturier find a rhythm between them, and Sid just takes it, can’t do much else, settled between them. Couturier moves to wrap his fingers around Sid at come point, and Sid’s dick feels rubbed raw, aching, same as his ass, but he takes that, too, comes not too long after. Schenn comes almost immediately after, slicking Sid’s insides, and it’s a relief. It takes a little longer for Couturier, but he pulls out and strokes himself off instead. He comes on Sid's ass, where the skin is still throbbing from Raffl’s hand, and it feels almost soothing.

“Come on, Crosby, help me out here.” Schenn says after a few seconds. He slaps Sid’s flank, lightly, and Sid gets it. He climbs off of him with great difficulty, and moves to lay on his back on the carpet, eyes closed and legs spread. He doesn’t know who’s next, doesn’t really care either, with how exhausted he feels.

Sid hears some shuffling but doesn’t bother opening his eyes until there’s the sound of the door opening. His eyes fly open then, and he moves to cover himself, anxious. Giroux is in front of him right away, though, moving between his legs.

“They’re just leaving,” he says, and Sid knows the rules, the captain gets to have it as many times as he wants. He’d forgotten about that part, conveniently, but he finds he doesn’t really mind, right now.

Sid sighs and spreads his knees further apart, too wrung out to think better of it. Giroux smiles and strokes over Sid’s thighs, pushing them apart as far as they’ll go, until Sid feel the familiar burn in his groin. He moves his hands to Sid's ass, rubs his thumb over Sid’s hole, raw and loose. Sid feels some come leak out of him and tries to clench around nothing, fails, with how fucked out he is.

“I need you to push it out for me,” Giroux says, to Sid's mortification.

Sid hasn’t said no to anything they’ve asked from him so far, but he says no now. “No way.”

“I can’t fuck you with all that sloshing around inside you, that's disgusting,” Giroux says, which, Sid would argue that him pushing masses of come out of his ass is more disgusting, but Giroux doesn’t seem to care about that. He just looks at Sid, unrelenting, and says, “Sid,” in this tone that sends shivers down Sid's spine.

“Please,” Sid - he begs, there’s no other word for it. He tries to close his legs but Giroux is between them, holding them firmly in place.

“Sid,” Giroux just says again, and Sid's face burns this furious red, his eyes sting. He pushes out, once, twice, and on the third try he feels a glob of warmth escape him. Sid makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat and tries to close his legs again, but Giroux stops him.

“Shh, that’s it, you’re doing good,” he says. He rubs the come around Sid’s hole, his balls, and has him push again. Sid tries, and it’s more difficult this time, but he manages. Giroux rubs it into the inside of Sid’s thighs, the back of his ass. The third time, he just lets the come drip onto the floor, uncaring, and Sid thinks that's even worse, because whoever cleans this up afterwards will know what he had to do.

“That’s good, Sid, so good,” Giroux tells him, and right now, Sid doesn’t have to think; if Giroux  says it, then Sid will take it.

“You ready?” Giroux asks. He uncaps the lube Simmonds had used and uses some on his dick. Sid expects him to push right in, but Giroux’s pauses, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. His voice is rough, abused, almost, and he flushes. “Just - ”

“I’ll go slow,” Giroux says, and he does. He fucks Sid slow and languid, kissing him the entire time, and Sid can’t even get hard, he's so exhausted, but it feels good nonetheless, in the sense of a job well done, a hard practice under his belt. When he comes, Giroux’s still kissing him.

After, Giroux helps him up. Sid’s joints crack and his knees feel bruised. He has to limp his way to the showers with Giroux helping him, and his face burns the whole way there.

Once there, Giroux pushes Sid into one of the shower stalls and gets on his knees in front of him. His hands go to Sid's dick and Sid flinches, oversensitive.

“I can’t,” he says, because it’s the truth. Hes’ hardly holding himself up as it is.

“One more,” Giroux says, looking up at him, and fuck if that’s not a sight, Claude Giroux on his knees for Sid. “For me,” he says,and that’s what does it for Sid, really, even though he’s never going to admit it out loud. He nods and lets Giroux take him into his mouth, swallow him down. At some point, he threads his fingers through Giroux’s soft hair, grabs fistfuls of it once Giroux takes him into his throat.

Sid comes like that, with tears dripping down his cheeks and his hands in Giroux’s hair. Giroux swallows it down, and then he’s on his feet, kissing Sid again. It wasn’t like this last time, Sid thinks, but he’ll take it.

“Schenner was right, before, you know,” Giroux says, once they pull back. 

Sid is too dazed from coming and from having Giroux literally kiss him breathless, so he just asks, “RIght about what?”

“You’re the best lay this team’s ever had,” Giroux says easily.

SId flushes, has to look away. He fumbles for something to say and ends up with something lame. “Bet you say that to everyone who walks through the door.”

“No.” Giroux shakes his head. “I don’t even - I usually just watch,” he admits, and he’s the one looking away now, for the first time all evening. “But i saw you today and I had to - I wanted to stay.”

Sid doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that, so he just leans in and kisses Giroux - kisses Claude instead. Claude lets out a breath, surprised, once their lips meet, but he kisses Sid back, his hand coming to rest on Sid’s neck. 

“I don’t know what to do with that,” Sid says, eventually. 

“Think about it?” Claude asks, and Sid doesn't want to say he’s hopeful, but that’s what it sounds like. 

“Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought :))


End file.
